


Show Your Devotion

by MakoBlues



Category: Borderlands (Video Games)
Genre: Angst, Cults, F/M, Fluff, Past Abuse, Porn With Plot, Religious Fanaticism, Sibling Rivalry, Siren OC - Freeform, Smut, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-10
Updated: 2019-09-19
Packaged: 2020-04-24 02:24:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19163890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MakoBlues/pseuds/MakoBlues
Summary: She's entirely under their spell. Troy demands to be convinced. She's more than happy to show him how devoted she is.Multi-chapter, plot and smut interchangeably important.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I legit wrote this after a writing dry spell for God knows how long. I haven't written porn in ages. Have some plot with your filth.

She hadn't expected it to be quite like this. When she had first come to the Children Of The Vault, looking for protection, somewhere to belong away from corporate greed, she had expected a few things. Violence, a lot of people, a hard life. 

The first two had remained true. The third, too, for a while. But she had been a biotech expert for Hyperion. She was useful, resourceful. It only took a few repairs to the Gods' prosthetics and tech to fall into their favour. And those in their favour lived well. 

It reminded her a little of Hyperion, but mostly her life before then. It reminded her of her mother's bar, the wild raves, the fireworks, the fame and recognition that came with being favoured. A disciple, the others called her. 

She suspected Tyreen's like for her came from her mutations; not quite a siren, not quite a mutant, but something else. The siren had taken all the power from her that she could, but some remained. Some simply couldn't be stolen. Not that her abilities had been stolen; she'd begged Tyreen to take them, take it all so she wouldn't be forced into slavery ever again. So she wouldn't ever be made a weapon for a corporation again. 

What remained was her own. She would have gladly put a siren collar on herself, before. But being in the twin gods' favor made her stronger, made her want to show off what she was still capable of. Never mind that meant crash landing into a group of enemies and detonating. How she had ended up with an offensive blast with the weight of an atomic payload as an ability that was unable to be siphoned was a mystery, but nobody questioned it. As long as she served the gods, she would be alright. The raves and cocktail of adrenalin, alcohol and bloodlust probably helped there. 

The broadcast centre was packed; this was not unusual. Before, when she had just been another follower, she had packed herself in with them, in the often violent mosh pit, waiting for their leaders to make an appearance, music blaring, drugs and bullets being traded around like candies. Now, a little more was expected of her. Disciples were expected to set examples for the masses, the peak of excellence and worship. People to aspire to. Everyone wanted the favor of the twin gods. 

Tyreen had many favorites, at least a dozen clustered together off the side of the enormous stage. Troy, not so many. His favorites didn't last long; he was an intelligent man but his attention on favorites and lovers was fleeting. He had more pressing matters. She was surprised to have survived this long, and took every day with cautious optimism. So long as she was useful. So long as she pleased him...

She admired the way they turned a public appearance to their masses of adoring followers into a rave, an insane party that would go til dawn. It was clever propaganda, and it worked. Who was she to judge. She had seen worse. Been part of worse. 

The bass thumped, a steady rhythm, like the broadcast centre hall had developed a heartbeat of its own, a steady thrum in time with Tyreen's firework cannon. They were of a similar stature, and she still marvelled that Tyreen held such a demanding presence. It was half in her attitude, she thought. That and Troy, always at her side, a force to be reckoned with. Troy... 

Yes, she was staring again. How could she not. They looked the part of gods, that was for certain. He stood tall, ridiculously beyond tall, at six four, and whilst he was lean, he was no beanpole. She had seen him lift the back end of a truck with little effort, testing an upgrade to his cybernetics that she had designed.

Piercing blue eyes, one ringed by a crimson tattoo, caught her eye. Embarrassed to be caught staring, at least staring with clear and shameless lust, she ducked her head. Not before she caught his predatory smirk. 

Oh, she would pay for that dearly when this was over. He so loved to torment her, to tease her over her blatant lust. As if it could be helped, when she knew just how capable he was. He would almost certainly hurt her in the process, but she didn't care. He was a god. Who was she to try and negotiate? As if she even wanted to.


	2. Chapter 2

He finds her almost straight away. It's not like she was hiding from him, not really. There's just a slight thrill in the chase, of making him look for her, seek her out specifically for this. Besides, it's not like she wasn't in almost plain sight, down behind the stage, leaning casually against one of the reinforced, double bricked, walls. 

"Enjoy the show?" He towers over her, backs her right up against the cold wall, shit eating grin firmly in place. 

"You sure know how to capture an audience," she says it appreciatively, but there's a taunt in there, too. Baiting Troy Calypso may not always be a smart idea, but she can't resist. Not when he's looking at her like this. 

"Be pretty shit gods if we didn't." He's playing it casual now, looking for a good ego stroke. She's more than happy to give it, of course. 

"Ten billion followers in, I don't think there's anyone doubting the twin gods." She's always been good with words; she's had to be, to survive Hyperion. There are men she has known with far shorter fuses and sharper tempers than Troy Calypso. Of course, there's no doubt he's dangerous, but she's willing to take the risks involved. Especially when she'd hedge she could take him in a fight, if she had to. She is cautious of him, yes, but not afraid. She swore to herself long ago she would never be afraid of another man. 

"Did you really just loiter here to flatter me like any other brain dead idiot around here?" There's a slight edge to his voice, like if she had, in fact, done just that, he would be disappointed. 

"Course not," she knows better than to push him to real annoyance. Has far better self preservation than people notice. 

"What did you come here for, then?" Piercing blue eyes search her face, much like a predator surveying prey; she takes in every detail of him up close, the tattoos, piercings, the cybernetics weaving into his hair. 

"I'm sure you can make an educated guess." She's growing tired of games; if she'd had her way she'd be on her knees already. She likes it when he fucks her, pushes her up against a wall, bends her over something, however the fuck he wants her. But there's something satisfying about letting him fuck her face, bringing him to complete vulnerability with just her mouth. 

She hadn't realised how much she'd been wanting this, thinking about it constantly since the last time. He was a drug, it seemed, one she would gladly keep exposing herself to, so long as he kept treating her as a favorite. She wanted to stay in his favor for as long as possible, not just because of the sex, but the way he wanted her for something beyond her mutation. Who cared about what she had left when Tyreen was the most powerful being in the solar system? Whatever she was, whatever power she had left, it was miniscule. Nothing worth noticing. Just like she had always wanted. 

She would rather skip this altogether, though that was selfish. She would have preferred to get her own gratification at the same time, but she supposed there was fun to be had in getting him close to the edge first. For starters, he would be more likely to be more considerate of how many times she got off. She was hoping for quite a few. 

"Sure I can, but why don't you show me anyway?" There it is. The invitation she's been waiting for. She likes to take the lead, but never without permission. That could be a death sentence and she isn't stupid. At least, not that stupid. 

What is stupid, or at least stupidly embarrassing, is how quickly she's ready to be on her knees as soon as the words are out his mouth. She's halfway down before his arm catches her. 

"Not this time." 

Shit, he must be really worked up if he's willing to forgo a nice, drawn out blowjob. She kind of suspects he's doing that to be kind to her, in a way, probably well aware of her own impatience. Knowing him though, it's more likely to be his own impatience and need for the quickest and most satisfying way of sexual gratification. 

"Are you sure?" She wants to make sure, because really, she doesn't mind taking the time, not at all. It's something she's gotten used to, even enjoys now. She loves the way he seems to love what she can do to him. 

"Very." His hands are on her shorts, yanking the zip and button out the way, shoving the rough denim to the floor; his flesh hand holds her in place while he deals with his own pants, not even bothering with the belt. Something akin to a low growl of satisfaction falls from his lips when he frees himself from the confines of his pants. 

Well, she's not about to argue. Less work for her, but he's still in a giving mood. She's totally, entirely okay with this. 

He has her turned around; her hands fly out to brace herself against the wall. She knows this game, knows it all too well. It's a favorite of his, to shove her up against the closest wall and fuck her senseless, watch her arms give out. Catch her at the last minute so she doesn't fall. 

He's rough and careless, but she wouldn't expect anything else from him. For all he says he wasn't born a bandit, he's taken to the lifestyle well. So has she, come to think of it. It's freeing, doing whatever she wants. Nobody in corporate to order her round, her biggest concern whether or not she can kill enough to keep Tyreen happy. Usually, the answer is yes, yes she can. 

Troy is a lot easier to please. He's not interested in body counts or blood feuds. At least, not literally. Of course, he pretends and plays it all up for the cameras. Better to go along with whatever his sister wants. It gives him purpose. Better to be a useful parasite than a simple leech.

Luckily, she's pretty fucking good at making him happy. 

She bites down on the leather sleeve of her jacket to muffle any noise. It's goddamn noisy in the broadcast centre, but she wants to be safe rather than sorry. The last thing she wants is some idiot acolyte with quick fingers filming and uploading this to the ECHO net for any scav and his dog to see. 

Really, if she's honest, she prefers the longer times she gets with him. He never lasts long after a broadcast; something about the mayhem and bloodlust gets to him. Still. She'll take a quick release where she can get one. 

His hand - the non robotic one - fists into her hair, a low groan tearing from his throat as he finishes inside her. 

"Always there when I need you." Even without seeing his face, she can tell he's smirking. 

"I try my best." Stretching, she tugs her shorts back up, buttons them, turns to face him. He's mildly flushed, which she takes as a good sign. 

"I'm going away for a couple days. Need to check something out with Ty." He's holding out a keycard to her. Some sort of chip for her ECHO. 

"What's this?" She's pretty sure, but she wants to be certain.

"Access code for my space. It's not much but it'll give you somewhere to hang while I'm gone. Away from the rabble. You can watch the stream. Or those weird novella things you like." He shrugs, looks almost awkward, "you've proven you're pretty devoted, if you get what I mean." 

She snorts. "You give every girl you fuck a key to your room when you have culty business to attend to?"

"Nah." He shrugs again, "just you. Figured you could use a break. Then I don't have to worry about you, either. Room's safer than anywhere else on this planet." 

It's an oddly sweet gesture. She'll take it. Time to herself in Troy's luxury apartment? Access to whatever channel on the ECHO net she wants? Sounds like a deal. 

"Thanks." She smirks, "guess I should show my devotion more often."

He returns her grin.   
"Guess you should."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This has taken forever to update and will suddenly miraculously be much longer than anticipated. I like when my single chapter pornos become actual plot driven fics. Stay tuned I guess?


	3. Chapter 3

Troy's apartment is, put lightly, a dive. Sure, it's better than the workshop bunks she's used to, but she's pretty sure the man has never cleaned. Ever. She spent half of the first day just cleaning trash out off the floor, couch, and benchtop. 

Still, the place is nice when it's devoid of garbage. Bandit Chic, she'd call it. Half the stuff in there is clearly stolen or salvage, some of the finer things perhaps gifts from fans. Some of it, though, she'd hesitate to say are handmade. 

As promised though, there's a couch, and a big screen with every ECHO net channel available. She spent the first night catching up on her favorite telenovella, which she hasn't managed to watch since Helios. She wasn't even certain the channel frequency could be reached on Pandora. Apparently, that isn't an issue for the dish at the HBC, because the picture comes through perfectly. 

By the third day, though, she's bored, and loathe to admit it, she misses Troy. She's been watching the live stream pretty much non-stop since it began almost a day ago, falling asleep to it the previous night. 

She wants to tell herself they aren't in any danger; Tyreen is extremely powerful, after all, but she knows the Crimson Raiders. Knows how strong they are. It's the knowledge of her former on-off allies slash enemies that keeps her glued to the screen. It sure as hell isn't just his dick game. At least. She hopes not. 

At least she's comfortable; the couch is an amazing place for a nap, and the place is full of snack food. The good kind. Fuck, though, she doesn't like the silence. It's too quiet here, in the fortified Sanctum, even with the stream going. 

Hell, may as well admit it, she misses Troy. She's used to being around him, taking notes, cutting footage he's too lazy to fix. Being in his place without him just feels... odd. 

Currently, she's curled on the couch, wrapped in a ratty blanket that smells like old leather, coffee, and a faint rust scent. It's warm, though, and reminds her of Troy. Okay. Maybe she has a problem. A tall, dark and annoying problem.

Whatever. She just wants him to come back, so things can go back to normal. She'd probably feel less... squishy... towards him once she's back in the workshop bunks with the other acolytes. Right now, though, she just wants to make sure he returns alive. Picking a fight with the Crimson Raiders isn't the best idea, even in the Calypso's circumstances. 

\-- 

She must have dozed off, because the next thing she's aware of is Troy shaking her awake. Her first instinct is to reach for her knife, but luckily she recognises him long before she would have stabbed him.

"Jesus fucking Christ!" She hissed, hand dropping from her side, "scared the hell out of me!" 

He grinned.   
"Right. Because who else would be in here? Come on, this shit is so secure even Ty can't get in here if I don't want her to."

That's news to her. The idea that Troy has places even Tyreen can't go is strange to her, but then again, their relationship is pretty strained, to say the least. 

"Did you get it? What you went to do?" She figures that's the more important topic of discussion for the moment. 

"She got what she needed. I got a little extra juice out of the trip, but nothing special." He sounded almost disappointed. She wants to press further on that, but what's the point? He won't divulge anything to her, not really. At least, nothing about himself. 

"What exactly did you take?" 

"Another city. It had been a real pain in the ass, idiots holding it thought the Crimson Raiders would give them a better deal. But you know how it goes. Gods don't negotiate, and now that terrain is ours." 

"That's got to be every bandit clan on Pandora under the same banner now."

"Almost." He agreed, "we're good at winning them over, what can I say?" 

She shuddered. She would rather a bandit cult than corporate greed, but the facts of war unsettled her. She did not miss it. 

"Hey. Relax. It'll all be over soon, then we can head to the Great Vault. Once Tyreen gets her hands on what's inside... we won't have to worry about any of our enemies anymore." 

Given the other twin's temperament, she was mildly afraid of said twin holding ultimate power. But rather a bandit god than another rich man who cared for nobody. 

"And what will happen to you?" She had often wondered this: what was in the vault for Troy?

"I'll get stronger. My real power. Just you wait." He ruffled her hair, clearly confident of this. She couldn't help but believe him; what, then, would become of her? Of the few other favorites he held in esteem still? They had become few and far between, lately. 

What good was worrying about the future? Right now, all that mattered was his proximity, the new victory. The vault. 

She could worry about the future when it came.


	4. Chapter 4

Being a part of the HBC is so different from where she came from. Hyperion, and before then. Hyperion was a part of her life for so long she barely remembers what she did before. She hates that, hates that the corporate wars stripped her of remembering her childhood fully. Remembering who she was before Jack tried to turn her into his personal weapon. 

She wishes she could say it was her own fault, but she had been only sixteen when she had started her internship. She had no idea what she was getting into, only that her mom's boyfriend was offering her a job, a way off the moon. She'd been sixteen, broke, and didn't want to work in her mom's bar or a garage. Sure, she was a good mechanic, but her mom had always said she was special. With her gifts... She could do more. 

It wasn't til she was older, til it was already too late, that she realised what Hyperion was. What Jack was. All she had been able to do was relay information to her mother and her associates, hope to god she was never discovered as a spy. 

Rhys had been her friend, but his takeover of Atlas terrified her. She had not wanted to be a piece in another corporate war. So she had come here, to give away her powers, expecting to die. Tyreen had taken all she could, but left a few scraps. Her healing powers, for start, and the defensive blast she could produce. At first she had thought it was mercy. She knew now, however, that Tyreen had always intended for her to serve her brother. A medic and bodyguard all in one. 

It was different, with Troy. She didn't feel so used. She knew her abilities kept him alive. Kept him out of pain. Instead of used, instead of a weapon, she felt useful. Needed. Maybe that was why she had embraced the Children of the Vault so easily. Or maybe it was the simple fact that she had been born a bandit. It was nice to return to her roots. To familiar territory where it was kill or be killed. The simple drive to survive. Like it hadn't been that way on Helios. 

She didn't miss it. She was used, now, to the constant blaring music or propaganda that shook the floors. Used to getting her hands dirty repairing vehicles or weapons stolen for COV use. She knew she could stay in Troy's apartment all day, if she wanted, but she liked the freedom. Liked contributing. On Helios everyone had been out for themselves. Here, it was all for one cause. In a fucked up, culty way, it was teamwork. 

She hated to admit it, having learned long ago that emotions in this world made you vulnerable, but she liked the lot she had been dealt. She liked that Troy needed her. It was nice to be needed, to be wanted around. He'd started spending time with her beyond needing his cybernetics repaired, or needing a health boost, or wanting to get laid. 

Today was a prime example of this.   
She was elbow deep in motor oil underneath a busted up vehicle; the engine had sprung a leak but she was determined to fix it. She liked working in the mechanic shed. It gave her something to do, she was good at it, and not everyone there was a total foam-at-the-mouth type of bandit. 

They usually had an old ECHO playing music, sometimes there was beer, everyone usually got covered in blood and oil, and sometimes there would be a perfectly good skag for roasting caught in the grill of a vehicle. She figured she had it pretty good. Although she was one of the favorites, the others liked her because she didn't let it go to her head. Never mind that she was on speaking terms with the God King, she didn't "have a stick up her ass" as one of the others had put it. 

Saying that, the sort of environment she spent her time sans Troy in, the shed was the last place she expected to see him. And yet, when she rolled out on her board from under the vehicle, swearing like a fiend, covered in oil, there he was. 

Leaning against a bench, smirking down at her, seemingly oblivious to the awe of the rest of her crew. 

Great. That was all they'd jabber about round the tea fire later. 

"So this is where you go when you're not hanging out with me?" He was, he had to admit, impressed. The thing he liked about her was her ability to remain grounded, even after all that had happened to her. To remain a bandit with normal interests. She had never once tried to take advantage of his favor, either accepting or declining gifts and favors as she saw fit. 

"Yeah. You caught me." She shrugged, "In good at fixing machines. If it's got wheels or cybernetics I'm your gal." 

Her fellow mechanics seemed stunned by the casualty of the conversation. Here she was, covered in grease and grime, all of five foot nothing, talking exceptionally casually to their God King. Sassing him, even. 

"Where'd you even learn all this stuff?" He's something of a fixit man himself; he built the ship that brought he and his sister to Pandora. Most of his cybernetics are hand built. Her mechanical skills aren't something he's aware of, beyond her repairs to his system. 

"My family. We're all mechanics, though my mom pretends she's a fancy city lady. S'pose she's got to. Not a lot of people would buy her drinks and pay to hang out and gamble in her bars if she kept her real accent." She retrieved a rag from her pocket and wiped the oil from her face. "Anyway. Can I help with something?" 

She's a little worried something is wrong. He's never come down here before. She's surprised, then, when he shrugs, shakes his head. 

"Just felt like seeing what our followers do. So I can do a shout out for everyone who does the little things next stream." Blue eyes shine a little as he surveys her, "besides. I wanted to see what takes so much of your attention. I'm surprised you work down here. Kind of neat." 

"Thanks?" She's still expecting him to tell her off for something. Jack used to hate when she did anything he didn't sanction. She's waiting for the shoe to drop and Troy to do the same. 

Only, he doesn't. 

"Glad you're keeping our guys safe on their wheels. Come for a walk?" 

She shrugs, unclips her tool belt. She's done for the day anyway, and besides, what's she going to do? Say no? 

He doesn't speak again til they're heading back up the path to the main building. 

"Sorry if I freaked you out just... turning up. I wanted to see what you do, when you're not with me."

"How come?" She asks before she can help herself. Waits for the punch that never comes. He is not Jack. She needs to remember that. 

"Ty says you probably have a million better things to do. That you'd probably rather she'd killed you than be stuck doing this. But you look? Happy?" 

She knows she has to tread carefully. She can't outright insult Tyreen. She's a god, the most powerful being she's ever met, and she's still Troy's sister. She thinks through her response before she speaks. 

"I like to help out the cause. I'm happy in the mechanic shed. I'm happy that I can help you. I miss working on cybernetics. Working with yours is no trouble." She hopes she's reassured him without flat out calling Tyreen out on the malicious lie. She knows the other Calypso twin likes to keep her brother isolated. Make him feel like he's unwanted. Only alive to help her. She knows that feeling. Recognises that abuse. 

"But are you happy here? Do I make you unhappy?" Blue eyes flicker with a sort of vulnerability she rarely sees in him.

"No." She tells him, impulsively reaching for his metal hand, "I'm happier here with you than I have been in ten years." 

As she says it, she realises how true it is. Being here, being a bandit medic for a broken siren, makes her happy. She expected to die here, and now, ironically, she wants to live, thanks to the brother of her would-be killer. 

She loves him, she realises. And that, on this planet? May end up being her death sentence after all.


End file.
